The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. by Various
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Various >> The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction.
* * * * *
HOW TO CHOOSE A RELIGION.
Karamsin, in his history of Russia, relates that when the inhabitants of
Livonia were first converted from Paganism to Christianity, they hesitated
whether they should adopt the faith of the Russian or German church; at
length in their extreme perplexity, they determined to decide their doubts
in a most summary manner by casting lots, when chance prevailed in favour
of the latter. There are many cases in which this example might be
followed very advantageously, thereby saving a great deal of time and
vexation to the parties; for instance, it might be very beneficially
introduced into the court of chancery, for then let the decision fall out
as it might, the suitors would resign themselves to it as the decree of
fate, as they must do even in the end after waiting half their lives. If
the adage of _Bis dat qui cito dat_, be true, it is no less certain that
he who denies at once, at length gives us something, for he gives us time.
* * * * *
RELIGIOUS BOOKS.
There is an amusing anecdote related of a country curate, who having
published a volume of sermons, in which he more particularly pointed out
the dangers of a lax morality, and the want of strict religious principles
among the higher classes of society, wrote a few weeks afterwards to a
friend in town, inquiring in his extreme simplicity, "whether he did not
observe any signs of reformation in the fashionable world?" the answer
that he obtained may easily be divined. The good man had entirely
forgotten that those who most needed his exhortations, were precisely
those who would not read them; or who, if they read, would be the last to
attend to them. If books could reform the world, it had been reformed long
ago; but no disparagement either to good books--something else is
necessary.
* * * * *
AN AMBIGUOUS COMPLIMENT.
An author having shown a portion of a manuscript, which he was preparing
for the press, to a friend, the latter suggested some improvements, and
pointed out some errors; but instead of receiving his suggestions, the
irritable man of letters plainly showed that he did not intend to adopt
them. A short time after, he submitted the remainder of his work to the
same judge, who having perused it, exclaimed, it could not possibly be
better. "Indeed, you really think so?" "Yes," returned the other, "I
really do; for how can it possibly be better when you are resolved to
adopt no improvements?"
* * * * *
GLORY.
During the war in the Peninsula, two British soldiers were regaling
themselves after a long fast, on a crust of mouldy bread. "This is but
sorry fare, Tom," observed one of them, "especially after the hardships
and dangers we have suffered." "What do you mean by sorry fare," exclaimed
his comrade, with philosophical composure, at the same time holding up a
piece of the mouldy bread; "this is what the good people in England, who
sit down to a comfortable hot dinner every day, call military _glory_!"
* * * * *
TORTURE QUINTUPLE.
That solid preacher and able annotator, Philip Limborch, quotes in his
_History of the Inquisition_, a writer of the name of Julius Clarus, who,
it would appear formed a very forcible idea of the powers of imagination,
since he allows them four parts in five of the torments decreed by that
satanic tribunal. "Know," Limborch represents Clarus saying, "that there
are five degrees of torture, _videlicit_, first, the torture of being
threatened to be tortured; secondly, the torture of being conveyed to the
place of torture; thirdly, the torture of being, and bound for torture;
fourthly, the torture of being hoisted on the torturing rack; and fifthly,
and lastly, the torture of squassation."
* * * * *
APPEARANCES.
Bourganville, when trading to Otaheite, was accustomed to leave there two
of some kind of European domestic animals. In his last voyage he had on
board a Capuchin and a Franciscan, who differ from each other in the
single circumstance of one having the beard shaved and the other wearing
it long on the chin. The natives who had successively admired the various
animals as they were disembarked, whether bulls and cows, hogs and sows,
or he and she goats, shouted with joy at the appearance of the Capuchin,
"What a noble animal! what a pity there is not a pair!" scarcely was the
wish expressed, when the shaven Franciscan made his appearance, "Huzza,
huzza!" exclaimed the savages, "we've got the male and the female."
W.C.B.--M.
* * * * *
SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.
* * * * *
FIRESIDE ENJOYMENTS.
The evening of Thursday, the 15th of February, 1827, was one of the most
delightful I ever remember to have spent. I was alone; my heart beat
lightly; my pulse was quickened by the exercise of the morning; my blood
flowed freely through my veins, as meeting with no checks or impediments
to its current, and my spirits were elated by a multitude of happy
remembrances and of brilliant hopes. My apartments looked delightfully
comfortable, and what signified to me the inclemency of the weather
without. The rain was pattering upon the sky-light of the staircase; the
sharp east wind was moaning angrily in the chimney; but as my eye glanced
from the cheerful blaze of the fire to the ample folds of my closed
window-curtains--as the hearth-rug yielded to the pressure of my foot,
while, beating time to my own music, I sung, in rather a louder tone than
usual, my favourite air of "_Judy O'Flannegan_;"--the whistling of the
wind, and the pattering of the rain, only served to enhance in my
estimation the comforts of my home, and inspire a livelier sense of the
good fortune which had delivered me from any evening engagements. It may
be questioned, whether there are any hours in this life, of such unmixed
enjoyment as the few, the very few, which a young bachelor is allowed to
rescue from the pressing invitations of those dear friends, who want
another talking man at their dinner tables, or from those many and
wilily-devised entanglements which are woven round him by the hands of
inevitable mothers, and preserve entirely to himself.--Talk of the
pleasure of repose! What repose can possibly be so sweet, as that which is
enjoyed on a disengaged day during the laborious dissipations of a London
life?--Talk of the delights of solitude! Spirit of Zimmerman!--What
solitude is the imagination capable of conceiving so entirely delightful,
as that which a young unmarried man possesses in his quiet lodging, with
his easy chair and his dressing-gown, his beef-steak, and his whisky and
water, his nap over an old poem or a new novel, and the intervening
despatch of a world of little neglected matters, which, from time to time,
occur to recollection between the break of the stanzas or the incidents of
the story?
Such were the reflections that hastily passed along my mind, on the
afternoon of Thursday, the 15th of February, 1827, as I sat with a volume
of the _Tor Hill_ in my hand, in the back drawing-room of my lodging in
Conduit-street. It was about ten o'clock in the afternoon. My dinner was
just removed. It had left me with that gay complacency of disposition, and
irrepressible propensity of elocution, which result from a satisfied
appetite, and an undisturbed digestion. My sense of contentment became
more vigorous and confirmed, as I cast my eye around my apartment, and
contemplated my well-filled book-case, and the many articles of
convenience with which I had contrived to accommodate my nest; till, at
length, the emotions of satisfaction became too strong to be restrained
within the bonds of silence, and announced themselves in the following
soliloquy:--
"What capital coals these are!--There's nothing in the world so cheering--
so enlivening--as a good, hot, blazing, sea-coal fire."--I broke a large
lump into fragments with the poker, as I spoke--"It's all mighty fine," I
continued, "for us travellers to harangue the ignorant on the beauty of
foreign cities, on their buildings without dust, and their skies without a
cloud; but, for my own part, I like to see a dark, thick, heavy
atmosphere, hanging over a town. It forewarns the traveller of his
approach to the habitations, the business, and the comforts of his
civilized fellow-creatures. It gives an air of grandeur, and importance,
and mystery, to the scenes: it conciliates our respect. We know that there
must be some fire where there is so much smother.--While, in those bright,
shining, smokeless cities, whenever the sun shines upon them, one's eyes
are put out by the glare of their white walls; and when it does not
shine!--why, in the winter, there's no resource left for a man but
hopeless and shivering resignation, with their wide, windy chimneys, and
their damp, crackling, hissing, sputtering, tantalizing fagots."--I
confirmed my argument in favour of our metropolitan obscurity by another
stroke of the poker against the largest fragment of the broken coal; and
then, letting fall my weapon, and turning my back to the fire, I
exclaimed, "Certainly--there's no kind of furniture like books:--nothing
else can afford one an equal air of comfort and habitability.--Such a
resource too!--A man never feels alone in a library.--He lives surrounded
by companions, who stand ever obedient to his call, coinciding with every
caprice of temper, and harmonising with every turn and disposition of the
mind.--Yes: I love my book:--they are my friends--my counsellors--my
companions.--Yes; I have a real personal attachment, a very tender regard,
for my books."
I thrust my hands into the pockets of my dressing-gown, which, by the by,
is far the handsomest piece of old brocade I have ever seen,---a large
running pattern of gold hollyhocks, with silver stalks and leaves, upon a
rich, deep, Pompadour-coloured ground,--and, walking slowly backwards and
forwards in my room, I continued,--"There never was, there never can have
been, so happy a fellow as myself! What on earth have I to wish for more?
Maria adores me--I adore Maria. To be sure, she's detained at Brighton;
but I hear from her regularly every morning by the post, and we are to be
united for life in a fortnight. Who was ever so blest in his love? Then
again John Fraser--my old schoolfellow! I don't believe there's anything
in the world he would not do for me. I'm sure there's no living thing that
he loves so much as myself, except, perhaps, his old uncle Simon, and his
black mare."
I had by this time returned to the fireplace, and, reseating myself, began
to apostrophize my magnificent black Newfoundland, who, having partaken of
my dinner, was following the advice and example of Abernethy, and sleeping
on the rug, as it digested.--"And you, too, my old Neptune, aren't you the
best and handsomest dog in the universe?"
Neptune finding himself addressed, awoke leisurely from his slumbers, and
fixed his eyes on mine with an affirmative expression.
"Ay, to be sure you are; and a capital swimmer too!"
Neptune raised his head from the rug, and beat the ground with his tail,
first to the right hand, and then to the left.
"And is he not a fine faithful fellow? And does he not love his master?"
Neptune rubbed his head against my hand, and concluded the conversation,
by again sinking into repose.
"That dog's a philosopher," I said; "He never says a word more than is
necessary:--then, again, not only blest in love and friendship, and my dog;
but what luck it was to sell, and in these times too, that old, lumbering
house of my father's, with its bleak, bare, hilly acres of chalk and
stone, fat eighty thousand pounds, and to have the money paid down, on the
very day the bargain was concluded. By the by, though, I had forgot:--I
may as well write to Messrs. Drax and Drayton about that money, and order
them to pay it immediately to Coutts's,--mighty honest people and all that:
but faith, no solicitors should be trusted or tempted too far. It's a
foolish way, at any time, to leave money in other people's hands--in
anybody's hands--and I'll write about it at once."
As I said, so I did. I wrote my commands Messrs. Drax and Drayton, to pay
my eighty thousand pounds into Coutts's; and after desiring that my note
might be forwarded to them, the first thing in the morning, I took my
candle, and accompanied by Neptune, who always keeps watch by night at my
chamber door, proceeded to bed, as the watchman was calling "past twelve
o'clock," beneath my window.
_Blackwood's Magazine_.
* * * * *
TO THE LADY BIRD.
"Lady Bird! Lady Bird! fly away home"--
The field-mouse is gone to her nest,
The daisies have shut up their sleepy red eyes,
And the bees and the birds are at rest.
Lady Bird! Lady Bird! fly away home--
The glow-worm is lighting her lamp,
The dew's tailing fast, and your fine speckled wings
Will flag with the close-clinging damp.
Lady Bird! Lady Bird! fly away home--
Good luck if you reach it at last:
The owl's come abroad, and the bat's on the roam,
Sharp set from their Ramazan fast.
Lady Bird! Lady Bird! fly away home--
The fairy bells tinkle afar,
Make haste, or they'll catch ye, and harness ye fast
With a cobweb, to Oberon's car.
Lady Bird! Lady Bird! fly away home--
But, as all serious people do, first
Clear your conscience, and settle your worldly affairs,
And so be prepared for the worst.
Lady Bird! Lady Bird! make a short shrift--
Here's a hair-shirted Palmer hard by;
And here's Lawyer Earwig to draw up your will,
And we'll witness it, Death-Moth and I.
Lady Bird! Lady Bird! don't make a fuss--
You've mighty small matters to give;
Your coral and jet, and ... there, there--you can tack
A codicil on, if you live.
Lady Bird! Lady Bird! fly away now
To your house in the old willow-tree,
Where your children, so dear, have invited the ant.
And a few cozy neighbours, to tea.
Lady Bird! Lady Bird! fly away home,
And if not gobbled up by the way,
Nor yoked by the fairies to Oberon's car,
You're in luck--and that's all I've to say.
_Ibid_.
* * * * *
"THE OLD MANOR HOUSE."
The following circumstances respecting the foundation upon which Charlotte
Smith built her popular novel, "The Old Manor House," may probably prove
interesting to the public. Near Woodcot, where Mrs. Smith resided at the
time she commenced her novel, was a very old house and domain called
Brookwood, in which resided some Misses Venables, elderly maiden ladies,
whom our authoress visited; and her acquaintance with them and their
abode, gave her the idea of her romance. They kept an old housekeeper,--
one whom we may presume was quite in _keeping_ with the _house_,--whose
niece or daughter was per favour allowed to reside with her at Brookwood--
this girl, I need scarcely say, was the Monimia of the novel, nor was her
Orlando a feigned character, although a highly-ornamented one; in truth,
alas! for the shadowy beauty of romance, alas! for the spell of gorgeous
poesy, he was not more made for a hero than was Dulcinea del Toboso for a
heroine, being _the young butcher of the village_!! "Often and often,"
said the intelligent friend who favoured me with the account, "has he
supplied our family with meat when we resided at Brookwood, and the
beautiful Monimia, his wife, is only slightly disfigured by an interesting
_squint_." The same friend who had frequently rambled over the house, part
of which is now pulled down, spoke of it thus: "It was what I term an
ancient _Vandyked_ building, in toto an old manor-house; the exterior had
a castellated appearance, nor had the interior much less, with its dim
vasty apartments, sliding panels for the secretion of treasure, and secret
passages; in one of the chambers is a closet, wherein part of the boarding
of the floor is made to slide, and when moved, reveals a kind of vault,
the descent down which is by a long narrow flight of steps; use is made of
this, I think, in 'The Old Manor House,' but some friends of mine who went
down discovered nothing but a gloomy kind of den, not capable of
containing more than six persons standing, and nearly filled with
_oyster-shells_. Do you recollect," continued my friend, "in which of
Charlotte Smith's novels it is that she describes an eccentric old
gentleman manuring his ground with _wigs_? because the fact is, it
_really_ was done by such a one at Brookwood."--_New London Literary
Gazette_.
* * * * *
THE DELICACY OF THE MARIKINA.
The marikina is a pretty little animal which has often been brought into
Europe. Its elegant form, graceful and easy motions, beautiful fur,
intelligent physiognomy, soft voice, and affectionate disposition, have
always constituted it an object of attraction.
The marikina, or silken monkey, can be preserved in European climates only
by the utmost care in guarding it from the operation of atmospheric
temperature. The cold and humidity of our winters are fatally injurious to
its health. Neatness and cleanliness to a fastidious degree are
constitutional traits of the marikina, and the greatest possible attention
must be paid to it in this way, in a state of captivity. The slightest
degree of dirt annoys them beyond measure, they lose their gaiety, and die
of melancholy and disgust. They are animals of the most excessive
delicacy, and it is not easy to procure them suitable nourishment. They
cannot accustom themselves to live alone, and solitude is pernicious to
them in an exact proportion to the degree of tenderness and care with
which they have been habitually treated. The most certain means of
preserving their existence, is to unite them to other individuals of their
own species, and more especially to those of an opposite sex. They will
soon accustom themselves to live on milk, biscuit, &c. but mild and ripe
fruit is most agreeable to their taste, which to a certain degree is also
insectivorous.--_London Magazine_.
* * * * *
THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS.
* * * * *
A SONG FOR MUSIC.
BY T. HOOD, ESQ.
A lake and a fairy boat
To sail in the moonlight clear,
And merrily we would float
From the dragons that watch us here!
Thy gown should be snow-white silk,
And strings of orient pearls,
Like gossamers dipp'd in milk,
Should twine with thy raven curls.
Red rubies should deck thy hands,
And diamonds should be thy dower--
But fairies have broke their wands,
And wishing has lost its power!
_The Plea of the Midsummer Fairies and other Poems_.
* * * * *
THE ARRIVAL OF A TRANSPORT.
Numbers of boats soon surround the ship, filled with people anxious to
hear news, and traffickers with fruit and other refreshments, besides
watermen to land passengers; a regular establishment of the latter
description has long existed here, many of whose members formerly plied
that vocation on the Thames, and among whom were a few years back numbered
that famous personage once known by all from Westminster stairs to
Greenwich, by the shouts which assailed him as he rowed along, of
"Overboard he vent, overboard he vent!" King Boongarre, too, with a
boat-load of his dingy retainers, may possibly honour you with a visit,
bedizened in his varnished cocked-hat of "formal cut," his gold-laced blue
coat (flanked on the shoulders by a pair of massy epaulettes) buttoned
closely up, to evade the extravagance of including a shirt in the
catalogue of his wardrobe; and his bare and broad platter feet, of dull
cinder hue, spreading out like a pair of sprawling toads, upon the deck
before you. First, he makes one solemn measured stride from the gangway;
then turning round to the quarter-deck, lifts up his beaver with the right
hand a full foot from his head, (with all the grace and ease of a court
exquisite,) and carrying it slowly and solemnly forwards to a a full
arm's-length, lowers it in a gentle and most dignified manner down to the
very deck, following up this motion by an inflection of the body almost
equally profound. Advancing slowly in this way, his hat gracefully poised
in his hand, and his phiz wreathed with many a fantastic smile, he bids
_massa_ welcome to _his_ country. On finding he has fairly grinned himself
into your good graces, he formally prepares to take leave, endeavouring at
the same time to _take_ likewise what you are probably less willing to
part withal--namely, a portion of your cash. Let it not be supposed,
however, that his majesty condescends to _thieve_; he only solicits the
_loan_ of a _dump_, on pretence of treating his sick _gin_ [wife] to a cup
of tea, but in reality with a view of treating _himself_ to a porringer of
"Cooper's best," to which his majesty is most royally devoted. You land at
the government wharf on the right, where carts and porters are generally
on the look-out for jobs; and on passing about fifty yards along the
avenue, you enter George-street, which stretches on both hands, and up
which, towards the left, you now turn, to reach the heart of the town.
* * * * *
Although all you see are English faces, and you hear no other language but
English spoken, yet you soon become aware that you are in a country very
different from England, by the number of parrots and other birds of
strange notes and plumage which you observe hanging at so many doors, and
cagesful of which you will soon see exposed for sale as you proceed. The
government gangs of convicts, also, marching backwards and forwards from
their work in single military file, and the solitary ones straggling here
and there, with their white woollen Paramatta frocks and trousers, or gray
or yellow jackets with duck overalls, (the different styles of dress
denoting the oldness or newness of their arrival,) all bedaubed over with
broad arrows, P.B.'s, C.B.'s, and various numerals in black, white, and
red, with perhaps the jail-gang straddling sulkily by in their jingling
leg-chains,--tell a tale too plain to be misunderstood. At the corners of
streets, and before many of the doors, fruit-stalls are to be seen,
teeming, in their proper seasons, with oranges, lemons, limes, figs,
grapes, peaches, nectarines, apricots, plums, apples, pears, &c. at very
moderate prices.--_Two Years in New South Wales_.
* * * * *
MELANCHOLY.
FROM MATTHISON
The nightingale's sad note in gloom is ringing,
As wails the bride above her lover's grave;
Like Grief above the tomb her tresses wringing,
So gleams the star of evening o'er the wave.
A melancholy haze hangs o'er the ocean;
The rocky cliffs reflect a sallow light--
Such as through cloister'd halls of dim devotion,
The moon-beams pour upon the cloudy night.
Ye rocky heights--ye violet-meads appearing
Once fairer to my gaze than poet's dream--
Now all your golden light to gloom is veering,
And every floweret laves in Lethe's stream.
Hills, valleys, meads, no changes ye are mourning;
'Tis to the hopeless every star appears
Like lamps in dark sepulchral vistas burning--
And every dew-tipp'd flower is gemm'd with tears!
_Stray Leaves; or, Translations from the German Poets_.
* * * * *
THE GATHERER
"I am but a _Gatherer_ and disposer of other men's stuff."--_Wotton_.
The projector of one of the new canals, accompanied by two or three
friends, was superintending the operations of the workmen, and frequently
lamented the loss which the speculation was likely to occasion to him. He
was mounted on horseback at the time, when the animal, suddenly becoming
unruly, plunged, and threw his rider into the water. Being quickly rescued
from his disagreeable situation, and safely landed on the bank, one of his
companions begged to congratulate him on the happy change that had taken
place in his fortune, "for have I not often told you (said the wit) that
the canal would one day _fill your pockets_?"
* * * * *
A cube of gold, of little more than five inches on each side, contains the
value of 10,000_l_. sterling.
* * * * *
"There is a rich rector in Worcestershire," said one of the colonel's
guests, "whose name I cannot now recollect, but who has not preached for
the last twelve months, as he every Sunday requests one of the
neighbouring clergy to officiate for him."--"Oh!" replied Colonel Landleg,
"though you cannot recollect his name, I can; it is England--_England
expects every man to do his duty_."
* * * * *
The church-bells at Lima are very musical, the brass of which they are
composed having a considerable quantity of silver mixed with it; but they
are rung in the most discordant manner. Instead of being pulled in chimes,
as in England, thongs of leather are fixed to the clappers, and at the
appointed times boys ascend the belfry, and swing the tongues of all the
bells at once, from one side to another, producing the most barbarous
combination of sounds imaginable. A friar who had been in England
observed, that the English had very good bells if they knew but how to
ring.